Joey Olivo

Joey Olivo, a one-time East Los Angeles gang member, is the only U.S. fighter to ever hold a world junior-flyweight title. He won the WBA championship in March, 1985, but lost it in December in Seoul on a split decision to Yu Myong Yu of South Korea. In his career, he has made few headlines and little money. When not boxing, he works part time in a dental lab in Los Angeles Q: Why have we heard so little about you in this country? A: My weight class isn’t very popular in the United States. We don’t have the little guys. Here, it’s lightweight on up to heavyweight that gets the attention. But my class is very popular in the Orient and in Mexico. When I defend there, I pack the house. They like the little guys. Q: Aside from your anonymity here, what’s the biggest problem fighting in countries other than your own? A: Bum decisions. When you fight in another country, you’re fighting the people and the judges as well as your opponent. In 1979, in an elimination bout in Chile, I was beating Martin Vargas, the hometown hero, in every round. I had him down and everything. In the ninth round, the photographers at ringside were reminding me to look their way later when the referee raised my hand. And this was in the ninth round. Yet he beat me by one point. Q: Don’t fighters always say they were robbed when they lose? A: Well, after the fight Vargas came over and kind of shrugged. In Spanish, he said: “What can I say? You’re in my country.” Q: As a fighter in the junior-flyweight division, you’ve apparently been denied decent purses as well. You once said you had made just $50,000 in nine years of boxing, even though you were ranked in the top 10 for more than half of that time. A: You could say it was a hard living. When I fought for the title, I got just $2,600--really nothing. But I told the promoter I’d fight for free, just to get the title. For my first defense, I got $65,000, which is better, but it’s still a little discouraging. It’s certainly nothing like the millions that Marvin Hagler or Larry Holmes have earned--the purses that you read about all the time. Q: How did you finally win the title? A: Getting the fight was the hard part. I was ranked No. 1 in the world by the World Boxing Assn., so the champion, Francisco Quiroz, had to fight me. He couldn’t fight anybody else. But until that fight could be made, I could fight no one else, either. With postponements, it turned out I had to wait a year without a payday. Q: How did you lose the title? A: In my opinion, I didn’t lose the fight. The judges gave it to him because he was a more aggressive fighter. But I won it. What really bothered me was he cut me over the eye and I had to go 15 rounds with that. It really bothered me--I had to get eight stitches after the fight. There’s going to be a rematch--we have an option on the fight. And next time, I’m going to knock him out. The guy is really nothing at all. Q: How did you get started in boxing? A: I started off in the barrios of East L.A., where I walked into a local Teen Post and tried on gloves. I was 10. I fell in love with boxing. Still, I was involved in the neighborhood. I went back and forth between the street and the gym until I was 14. My dad had a lot to do with it, too. When I finally realized that boxing was what I wanted to do, he moved the family out of the neighborhood. Q: What was wrong with the neighborhood? A: I was in a gang, growing up. Big Hazard was the name of the gang. We didn’t wear colors; we just had the cholo image--Pendleton shirts, pleated pants, Stacy Adams shoes and derby hats. We weren’t really involved in gang violence, but it seemed we were always around it. I look back, and a lot of those guys are dead of overdoses, murdered or pulling time in Wayside or Chino. Q: There but for the grace of boxing go you? A: I was very lucky. Boxing opened a lot of doors for me. It gave me a career, a dream. At 11 I realized I wanted to be a world champion, and I was around others that were or would be, too: Little Danny Lopez, Albert Davila, Jaime Garza. I knew that with dedication I could accomplish that dream and be somebody. Q: Still, many doctors and politicians have campaigned against boxing, saying it is too dangerous. A: The danger concerns me. When a fighter gets into the ring, he knows he’s in danger. I wouldn’t say he knows he’s putting his life on the line, but he knows there’s the danger of eye damage, hurting his hand. I just pray I’ll come out the way I went in. Q: But fighters sometimes do die in the ring. A: All sports are dangerous. You have paralyzed football players, jockeys who get killed. Anyway, I see boxing as the art of self-defense, not a brutal sport. Q: What is it like when you go back into the old neighborhood? A: It’s nice. There they look at me as a model--I can’t say idol--but as someone who got out of there and made it to the top.